


Nerium Oleander: The 55th Hunger Games

by MoonlightSalsa



Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [10]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, District 1 (Hunger Games), Friendship, Gen, Jealousy, More tags to be added, Victor Prostitution (discussed but not explicitly shown)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightSalsa/pseuds/MoonlightSalsa
Summary: A surprise volunteer, a historical arena, jealousy between district partners, and much more makes up one of the most beloved years in Hunger Games history. The 55th Games certainly were a treat!
Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692511
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

District One was thirsting for another Victor. 

It had been sixteen - yes, _sixteen_ \- years since Chanel Grande brought home the crown, and since then they'd suffered through loss after disappointing loss. When their Victor count wasn't getting overtaken by Two, it was the outlier tributes who somehow made it to the end. The district was getting antsy. The Academy trainers were getting annoyed. 

President Snow noticed this too. He was fairly disappointed with all the Career districts, but mostly with One. Two was still picking up a couple of Victors here and there, and Four wasn't as rich, so they were just making do with what they had. But One should have won more by now. The whole thing just seemed like a waste of training, waste of time, and waste of Capitol resources that could have gone towards something more productive. 

And he certainly wasn't pleased with all the excuses: _They couldn't adapt to the arena! They're not used to the Capitol-grade weapons! Those stupid outlier brats cheated!_

He was considering pulling the plug on funds for the Academy, but he held off on that decision for a little longer. 

Because, even though they struggled to gain another Victor, the tributes still performed exceptionally well. Not once in the last thirteen years did either of their tributes not make it to the final eight. They were still as beautiful, strong and patriotic as ever. They just kept falling at the last few hurdles. 

Even so, Snow was still disappointed, but as a courtesy to his second-favourite district, he would give them a few more chances. A small act of mercy, if you will. 

One afternoon, shortly after the conclusion of the 52nd Games, he phoned up Alexander Starre, head trainer of One’s Academy, and told him that he had three more years to produce a Victor. Otherwise, he warned, the district would be on their own in regards to Academy expenses. 

Alexander gulped. One may have been the richest district of them all, but running the Academy was no cheap feat. The amount of money they sunk into it annually would put them much lower on the economic ladder than they deserved to be. And their pride and status would go with it. Losses that they couldn't afford, figuratively and literally. 

Alexander accepted the terms, the voice in his head screaming all the while. As soon as he got off the phone, he immediately began to revamp the training program. 

The bar was raised. Instead of only having to pass the final exams once, the chosen tributes would have to pass three three times, preferably as flawlessly as possible. Contenders would have to stay behind each day in order to squeeze in more training. The work was harder than it had been in previous years, but everyone understood why. 

The eventual volunteers, Topaz and Sapphira, were selected after very careful deliberation and sent into the 53rd Games. 

Topaz died a shocking death during the bloodbath when another tribute was able to blindside him. Sapphira lasted until the final five, perishing in a fight once the Career pack dissolved. 

Alexander’s heart started to beat wildly as he realised that he now had only two more chances to secure a Victor. He ordered training to begin immediately. Emphasis on _immediately._

Six months of even more intense training later, Golden and Ruby were selected to represent their district. Alexander dared hope that they would be much luckier this year than they were last year. 

It was not to be. Golden and Ruby didn't even make it into the final eight. They were ripped apart by shark mutts within seconds of each other. District One was now back to square one and time was running out. 

But, all was not lost just yet. 

During the previous year’s selection process for the volunteers, Alexander had noticed two standouts: Platinum and Silver. Even though they were only given the roles of backup volunteers, they had lost the final test against Golden and Ruby only by a very slim margin. They were well ahead of anything else in their class. 

So the decision was made. Platinum and Silver would be the volunteers for the 55th Games. 

Despite their already impressive prowess however, there was still a lot of work to be done. Lots and lots of it. Alexander couldn't take any more chances. After all, this was the last one they had. 

Platinum and Silver spent all day, every day studying every single weapon and every single form of unarmed combat, no matter how unusual or unlikely it was to be used. They trained all day, until the Academy shut its doors at five o’clock, then they trained some more, until the great bell tower down the road chimed midnight. At that point, they stopped training and went to sleep on portable stretchers in the locker rooms. Five hours of sleep later, they would get up, have a quick breakfast, and start training for the day. 

The work was gruelling and tough, but it was a great honour and even greater responsibility to be the chosen volunteers, so they never once complained. Not when they trained with growling stomachs because they only took five-minute lunch breaks. Not when their limbs ached and they had trouble getting out of bed the following morning. And certainly not when they were snapped at whenever they made a mistake. They simply swallowed their complaints and did as they were told. 

They were proud warriors, ready to bring a victory to their district. 

There was just one more thing that had to be done: choose the backup volunteers. 

Alexander was confident that nothing bad would happen to Platinum and Silver, but still, this tradition existed for a reason. If an ‘unsavoury’ tribute made their way into the Games, everyone in the district would probably die of embarrassment. 

So he and his second-in-command observed the 17/18 years division and picked out six contenders, three of each gender. 

The test to determine the backups was held on a warm and sunny Saturday afternoon, inside one of the largest training rooms the Academy boasted. The test was simple: everyone must fight each other. The last ones of each gender standing would be that year’s backup volunteers. 

Alexander watched the fight with a stony expression. This finale was meant to test the contenders’ abilities to hold their own in battles with multiple people, who may or may not be as well trained as they were. Since the Career pack would inevitably split each year, skills like these were very necessary. 

The battle went on for thirty minutes, the air filling with grunts, moans of pain, and the sounds of weapons glancing off each other. Four opponents were felled (not permanently, however) and finally, only two remained. The boy, a cheerful one named Puck Lumi, stood tall with shaggy blonde hair damp with sweat. The girl was named Joy Lux and she had curly reddish-pink hair piled upon her head. 

Alexander approached them and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Puck and Joy,” he spoke without a hint of happiness, or any emotion whatsoever, “you are this year’s backup volunteers. Now just because you are backups doesn't mean you don't have to work as hard. You have a responsibility to uphold now. It wouldn't do to slack off and goof around. You need to make your district proud.” His voice was cold and to the point. “You now need to make your way to Room 304. Mr St Germaine will be there to help you train with swords.” After that, Alexander left. 

As soon as he was gone, Puck and Joy shared a gleeful, tired grin. 

They understood the seriousness of Alexander's words, of course, but they, Puck in particular, were more focused on having a good time. 

Besides, it's not like they'd actually have to, y’know, step up and volunteer. Platinum and Silver had everything figured out. They'd be fine. 

But fate has a funny way of working out sometimes. 

Three days before the reaping found them in a sunbathed room, learning how to properly throw a spear, when Alexander entered, a grave expression etched on his face. Puck and Joy immediately stopped their laughter and banter and fell silent. 

Alexander focused his gaze onto Joy as he started to speak, his words slow, careful, and firm. 

“I had some bad news for you: Silver has fallen ill. She won't recover in time to volunteer in three days’ time. This means that you will volunteer in her place, Joy.” Alexander cleared his throat and looked around. “I certainly hope you've been using your time wisely. It wouldn't do to goof off so close to the reaping.” He shot a glare Puck’s way. Then he left as suddenly as he had arrived. 

Puck and Joy stated after him for a long, silent moment. That silence was broken by Puck giving Joy the biggest high-five he could manage. 

“Congrats, J-J!” 

And so the morning of the reaping came around and instead of Platinum and Silver onstage, it was a disappointed Platinum and a jubilant Joy who were presented to their district, and the entire country beyond. 

As Joy waved her hand to the cheering crowd below her, she tried to ignore the creeping sensation of Platinum’s eyes on her back. 

She thought to herself that he'd better not stab it.


	2. Chapter 2

Joy was ecstatic. She'd made it! She'd gotten one of the most coveted jobs in the district! Her family would be so proud of her. She knew that Puck certainly was. He'd come to visit her before she left and threw his arms around her and told her to make everyone as proud of her as he was. He was nice, that Puck. 

She couldn't say the same for her mentor, though. Chanel had only made a few brief appearances here and there, and when she did show up, she was rude and grumpy. She looked pretty disheveled too. Her normally luscious blonde hair was greasy and tangled, and her clothes were rumpled. She looked as if she had only rolled out of bed a few minutes ago. 

Maybe she had been in bed. 

As Joy sat on the sofa watching the reaping recaps, she overheard Barty giving advice to Platinum and felt more than a little envious. Why wasn't her mentor helping her? What was she even doing that was more important than her tribute? 

Finally, the carriage door swung open and Chanel stepped inside, her eyes narrowed sharply against the light. She ambled over and sat on the sofa, on the opposite end from Joy. She stared blankly at the television for a few moments. Then she let out a burp that smelled vaguely alcoholic and turned around to face Barty and Platinum. 

“Can you two shut the hell up? You're doing my head in!” 

Barty didn't face her, but his mouth formed a low smile. “This is why you shouldn't drink, Platinum,” he said in a dangerously smug voice, “it's truly disgusting. It's incredibly shameful to be seen like that in public.” 

Chanel flipped him off. Barty didn't respond. 

Then Chanel turned to Joy. Her eyes were dark and angry. “So, what are you doing here?” she snarled. She didn't give Joy a chance to respond before continuing. “So, you think you can win? You think you can beat all the others, get the crown, and ride home on a wave of glory? Well let me tell you something: you're going to die. Ain't no way around that. And honestly, you'd be better off dead.” 

Joy was so blindsided that she couldn't speak. Chanel Grande, one of District One’s many darlings and someone whom she looked up to, just told her that she would die? And that it would be better to die than to win? And she just told her that in such a hateful voice that Joy thought she might cry. 

Chanel stood up suddenly and marched out of the carriage. A long few seconds of silence followed before Barty piped up. 

“She's just a grumpy ol’ drunk, don't mind anything she says. Don't take it personally. She likes to take her anger out on everyone else, mostly me,” he chuckled. 

His words didn't make Joy feel any better. Her mentor was a drunk? How was she supposed to get potentially life-saving advice from an irritable alcoholic who constantly snaps at everyone? 

Joy didn't feel as great about being a tribute anymore. 

~*~ 

Joy couldn't enjoy the parade, even though she and Platinum were the stars of the show in their elegant jade-green outfits. The cheers of the crowd simply went in one ear and out the other. 

She couldn't get over the fact that her mentor had basically abandoned her, leaving her to the wolves. Chanel had fallen off of the pedestal that Joy had placed her on, and now Joy just felt lost and betrayed by the very person she was counting on to give her advice. 

Barty wasn't any help either; he cited the reason as being that he was much too busy guiding his own tribute. She'd also caught sight of Platinum smirking at her misfortune. She knew why. She had taken Silver’s spot. As far as he was concerned, Joy didn't belong here. 

But she couldn't turn to anyone for support. Chanel was supposed to mentor the female tribute, and no one else was allowed to swoop in and steal that job. District One’s mentoring system allowed everyone to take turns each year, and no one could interfere. It just wasn't done. It was considered incredibly disrespectful and rude; it implied that you thought the assigned mentor wasn't good enough. 

So the three Victors who had tagged along for the ride - Lillian, Lapis and Wonder - were forbidden from helping, as much as they wanted to do so. 

Joy was well and truly alone. 

~*~ 

On the first day of training, all the Careers assembled at the sword fighting station. There was Granyte and Ronette from Two, and Herman and Sandy from Four. And of course, Platinum and Joy. 

Almost immediately, everyone had been subconsciously assigned roles within the pack. Ronette was the leader, Platinum and Herman her right-hand men, Granyte and Joy were the followers, and Sandy was simply along for the ride by virtue of being a trained tribute from a Career district. 

They split off into different groups. Joy found herself with Granyte at the spear station. Joy knew how to use spears; she wasn't mind-blowingly brilliant at them, but competent enough. As she readied herself to throw one, she heard Granyte say behind her: “Hey, just so you know: you're district partner's glaring at you.” 

Joy turned around. Sure enough, Platinum was giving her an ugly, hate-filled look from halfway across the room. She sighed. “It's because I was the backup volunteer. As far as he's concerned, I pretty much stole his friend’s spot.” 

“Ah, is that what it is?” Granyte asked, with a smile and a gleeful twinkle in his eye. 

Joy raised an eyebrow at his attitude. What exactly was he getting at? 

Granyte grinned at her. “Ronette hates me for the same reason.” 

A peal of laughter escaped from her lips despite herself. What were the odds? Two backup volunteers in the same year, whose district partners both hated them? Puck would find that hilarious, no doubt. Imagine if he had to volunteer as well! 

Joy covered her mouth with her hand in a half-hearted attempt to stifle her laughter. “It's not my fault Silver got sick.” 

“And it's not my fault Tyree slipped and broke his arm,” Granyte shrugged. “But that's just how life goes sometimes.” He glanced over at Ronette and Platinum throwing knives together. “Some people just need to accept that.” 

They stood in silence for a moment, the quiet murmurs of the other tributes filling the air around them. Some of them happy, relieved and friendly; others reserved, curt and nervous. Sandy was standing around in the centre of everything, as if she was unsure of what she should do next. That sort of indecisiveness wouldn't work well in her favour in the arena. She was easily the weakest link of the Careers; it seemed like she didn't even want to be there. And yet, she was. 

Hell, even Herman didn't seem too interested in her, even if he wasn't actively hostile. Too busy focusing on more important things. Sandy didn't even have the support of her district partner. That was a little sad. 

Granyte turned back to Joy. “Say, how about you and I have a little alliance of our own? The backup volunteers should watch out for each other, after all.” 

“Of course!” Joy was all too eager to agree. She didn't want to go into this feeling like everyone would stab her in the back the first chance they got. 

They shook on it. 

~*~ 

The days of training went by much easier now that she had someone watching her back. Too bad she couldn't say the same about her supposed mentor. 

Joy was in the District One apartment. The private sessions would be starting in half an hour. And Chanel was nowhere to be seen. 

Platinum had gone off somewhere with Barty in order to be mentored privately, so Joy simply sat on the sofa, staring at the television as it continued to emit noises she knew were supposed to be voices and music. She wasn't paying attention. She was still worried about how having a mentor who basically just peaced out on her would affect her in the long run. She knew that she could just follow the examples of Victors from years gone by, but not having any of them by her side made her feel exposed. 

Also, how was she supposed to get sponsors if Chanel wasn't around to collect them? 

Before Joy realised what she was doing, she began chewing on the skin around her fingernails: something she hadn't done since she was a child. It had been beaten out of her at the Academy, as it was considered “unsightly behavior not befitting of a One girl”. Actually, there were a lot of things she couldn't do because they weren't “proper”. And the instructors were always mean about it. Some days, she would come home crying to her parents about it. They always told her to suck it up and push through. She needed to do this. She needed to bring glory back to her family. 

And that was what she had to do right now. Suck it up and push through. Bring glory back to the Lux family. 

Her hand immediately dropped from her mouth. 

Just then, Lapis strolled in, cocktail glass in hand, and sat down next to Joy. She didn't waste a second before speaking. “Right, I know that I'm not allowed to do this, but I'm getting tired of seeing this happen-” she paused to take a sip from her drink, “-I'm going to give you some advice real quick, so listen up ‘cause I'm only going to say this once.” 

Joy immediately straightened up. Finally, some actual mentoring! 

“First of all, always keep your eyes peeled, even when you're with the Careers. You never know when the alliance will split, you never know when they'll try to stab you in the back. You need to remain vigilant. Just because you're allies doesn't mean they'll go easy on you. 

“Secondly, don't just rely on the Cornucopia for supplies. You'll need sponsors, so you need to make a good impression on people during your interview tomorrow. A good sponsor can be the difference between life and death. 

“Thirdly, don't assume that all the outliers are weak just because they're outliers. There's a reason why a lot of them have won in the past twenty or so years, and it's because they had the skills and luck to carry them through. Don't let yourself be surprised by them.” 

As soon as the last word was spoken, Lapis stood up, covertly looked round the room, then strode quickly out the door. 

Joy stayed on the couch, pondering what she had just been told. Some actual advice, for once! And it wasn't even her actual mentor who gave it to her! If Lapis was willing to risk being exposed trying to do Chanel’s job just to help Joy, then Joy had better take her words to heart and not let her down. 

Joy let out a deep breath. Now that she had some idea of what to do and what not to do, she felt much better. 

~*~ 

Her private session went much better than she initially expected it to. Especially since she was able to show off her machete skills. 

Yes, she had primarily trained with swords for much of her time at the Academy (something about it being a ‘distinguished’ weapon, whatever that meant) but machetes were her first love. They were sharp, light and deadly if you struck at the right angle. Which always happened. 

There was just something about them that made Joy feel like taking on the whole world. They made her feel like she could take over entire kingdoms and sit on thrones built out of skulls. She didn't tell any of the other Careers about her love of machetes. It was her little secret; a little surprise up her sleeve. 

Hopefully, demonstrating her skills boosted her score by a point or two. She received a nine and was very proud of herself. 

But all the attention was taken away from her once it was revealed that Platinum had scored an eleven. She turned away from his smirk and tried to focus on her own strengths. 

~*~ 

Her interview went swimmingly. Swathed in a jade-green ball gown, she kicked off the night with a wonderful three minutes of chatting with Caesar about how she was going to win for her district. She wouldn't hold back, she said. She wouldn't be merciful. She was going to do whatever it takes to break One’s losing streak. 

Caesar applauded her resolve, as did the rest of the crowd. As they all clapped and whooped, Joy looked out over them all. Some rows back, she could see all the Victors, young and old, sitting and clapping politely. The only one not doing so was Chanel. 

Even though she could only see her from a distance, Joy saw the disgust and anger on Chanel’s face. 

What was up with her? Joy tries her absolute hardest to be the best she can possibly be, and this is how she's treated? Like she's not worthy of Little Miss Princess Grande’s time of day? 

Joy felt her fingers curl tightly inwards. 

What a bitch, she thought. 

What an absolute bitch! Not only is she rude, but she's an appalling excuse for a mentor! Mr Starre might drop dead from shock if he saw how his tributes were being treated. 

And she's not even as pretty as everyone says she is! Sure, she may have been when she was younger, but now she's just another middle-aged hag who still thinks she's all that, even though she clearly doesn't put any sort of effort into her appearance. 

Joy found herself getting even more motivated to win. 

When she is Victor, she will be a better mentor than Chanel fucking Grande. 

Joy doesn't remember the buzzer signalling the end of her time onstage. She doesn't remember the rambunctious applause that followed in her wake. She doesn't remember walking back to the elevator and riding it back to her floor. Her head was too busy swirling with frustration and determination to take any real notice of what she was doing. 

She opened an elegant glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. Sitting down on a cushioned seat, she looked over the city, saw the glittering lights, and heard the crowd cheering from far below. If she were to lean over the railing and look straight down, she would see the stage and all those surrounding it. 

It was a lovely night. The air was warm without being stifling, there was a cool breeze, and the sky was a soft, inviting shade of black. Joy could sit out here for hours, basking in all the different scents, and lights and sounds. 

Behind her, footsteps echoed in the apartment. They grew closer to the balcony, until finally Chanel appeared. She had really cleaned herself up for tonight, but her face was no less hideous. 

“Why do you want to win so badly?” Chanel hissed. The tone of her voice caught Joy off guard, but she didn't give her any time to answer. “Let me guess - you wanna win for your district, don't you? You wanna bring honour to your family? Is that it? Because let me tell you - it's not fucking worth it. You're just gonna get chewed up and spat back out again. It happens with all of us.” 

Chanel leaned forward and took a lock of Joy’s hair in her fingers. “You're pretty. Half the Capitol’s obsessed with you. They always go wild over the pretty ones. They can't wait to get their filthy little hands on you.” 

Joy felt a lump of ice drop in her stomach. Chanel’s eyes gleamed. 

“What, didn't they tell you at the Academy? That whenever their tributes win, they have to service those who buy their company? Of course they didn't! No one ever talks about the bad things. They didn't tell you how since One hasn't had a Victor in nearly two decades, the customers would be ravenous for more. They didn't tell you about how compliance is mandatory, lest your entire family be killed. Of course they didn't tell you! They don't even know about it! This is the Capitol’s dirty little secret.” 

Chanel stepped back and Joy hoped that that was the end of it. But she was wrong. Chanel looked down upon her, all her frustration and stress bubbling up to the surface. 

“I can't stand girls like you,” she spat. “I have to sit there and listen to them blather on about how they're totally gonna win and be rich and popular and all that, but they're too airheaded to realise what they have to sacrifice: their sanity, their health, their bodily autonomy. But we're not allowed to tell them that! And they never seem to realise it either! They're all doomed to fail in one way or another! Including you! You're just like them, except now you know. But I bet it won't make a difference. Knowing your type, you'll just assume that you can overcome it somehow. You can avoid all of the nightmares and the guilt and having to fuck old crusty rich men just so your family doesn’t get their throats cut. Well guess what, princess? You can't escape it! You'll never fucking escape it! It follows you everywhere and infests every single part of your life! You've made a fucking stupid decision, volunteering for this thing. You've made your bed, so now you have to lie in it!” 

Joy could barely keep up with all the words that Chanel was spewing out of her mouth, but she understood everything regardless. She didn't want to. It all just seemed so unreal, what Chanel was telling her. For so long she was told that participating in the Games was an amazing honour, and yet Chanel was telling her the complete opposite. 

Nightmares? Trauma? Guilt? 

And that other thing… 

That beast that she didn’t want to think about… 

Chanel began to laugh, a deep throaty sound, as tears poured down her cheeks. “I'm gonna get in trouble now,” she said, “because I told you. I'm not supposed to tell you. There are cameras everywhere. They'll know I told you. I've warned you about this, so now you have to be smart for once. Otherwise you'll pay for it. Just like I have to.” And then she left, gasping for air as she ran down the hallway and into her room, the door slamming behind her. 

Joy sat frozen on the balcony. 

It couldn't be true. 

No. It couldn't. 

Chanel’s just messing with her. This is just another attempt to get under her skin. Maybe it's meant to toughen her up, show her what she's made of. 

The Games are meant to be an honour! Chanel is just lying! She has to be! 

But as Joy thought about it while lying in bed later on, it all started to make sense. Chanel’s disheveled appearance, her terrible attitude… It's all the result of being used and abused by Capitol patrons. Whatever was left of the once stunning young woman was now long gone. 

Forced prostitution. Even thinking those words made her feel sick. 

And they were going to be coming after her, too. Chanel had said that half the city was obsessed with her. 

Suddenly, Joy felt sick. She threw back the covers, leapt out of bed and ran into her ensuite bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet. As she kneeled there, bent over the bowl, her mind seemed to implode in on itself. 

What was she to do? 

Let herself be killed? No, that's dishonourable. Surrendering is for cowards. 

Kill herself? No, that would be even more dishonourable than anything else. Her parents had sunk too much time and effort into her for her to become a disgrace. 

But winning would mean giving up her freedom… 

She rested her forehead on the edge of the bowl. Then the tears came. 

Of course volunteering was stupid. Of fucking course. How could she not see it before? How idiotic was she? This is a fight to the death. How could she have ever thought that she could make it through unscathed? 

Losing means certain death. But winning means never being able to escape. 

What was she supposed to do now?


	3. Chapter 3

The stylists arrived in the morning to find Joy asleep on the bathroom floor. She'd lain there and cried herself to sleep after vomiting in the toilet, but she wasn't about to tell them that. So instead she had to deal with the tutting and head-shaking and little giggles as they brushed out her hair and piled it elegantly on top of her head. 

Joy was confused. Her hairstyle seemed much too refined for a death competition. It was the same style she'd had last night for her interview. What gives? 

She was even more confused when she was handed her arena outfit. Instead of the traditional jacket and pants, she had to put on a plain white tee-shirt with “Too Glam to Give a Damn” printed on it in loopy black cursive, and a pair of high-waisted black denim shorts. On her feet was a pair of white sneakers with black laces. A small silver charm bracelet on her right wrist completed the look. 

Joy stared at herself in the mirror. She did look nice, but what was with the clothes? 

“Is this my arena outfit?” she asked. 

“It sure is!” her stylist exclaimed. “I know it's a little strange, but you'll understand once you get into the arena!” 

Joy simply nodded along. If this is what she was going to be wearing for the Games, then what on Earth was the arena going to be? The cut and style of these clothes was a little old-fashioned, though not horrendously so. They could probably be described as ‘retro’ at worst. So the arena might have some kind of historical theme? 

She'll just have to wait and see. 

Once she was all ready, she was led out to the elevators. The mentors were all lined up beside it, bidding their tributes good luck. Except Chanel, of course. Only now, Joy couldn't find it within herself to be mad at her. 

She found herself whispering, “I'm sorry,” as she passed by. Chanel didn't respond. 

Platinum ignored her during the elevator ride. His snobby attitude didn't mesh well with his shirt: an oversized black tee with a sloth in an astronaut outfit on it. 

As they were seated on the hovercraft, Joy noticed that all the tributes wore similar outfits to her and Platinum. The girls had shorts, skirts, cardigans and dresses. The boys had shirts, jeans, jackets and baggy pants. All could be traced back to the twenty-first century. 

So the arena would be a historical one, or at the very least, inspired by history. But what would it be? 

~*~ 

When Joy was launched into the arena, she knew she was right. It was historical. Well, kind of. 

It was a humongous shopping mall. 

The cornucopia was in the middle of the polished white-marble floor in between two long rows of shops that extended into the distance. A few yards behind the cornucopia were several elevators leading up to the second floor, and all the other floors above that. Looking up, one could see all the balconies from the different floors, where anyone could peer over them and down on the cornucopia. 

That is, if they could see past the enormous glass chandelier that hung down in the gap, the very edge of it only barely scraping the topmost point of the silver horn. 

Scattered around on the floor, instead of backpacks, were small paper shopping bags in all colours, some with store logos on them. The weapons, of course, were unchanged and resting on racks, ready to be used. 

Several air conditioning units whirred from nearby, filling the arena with chilly air. Music played softly from the many speakers dotted about, the melody marred by small cracks and static. 

Needless to say, the arena was already a fan favourite, even before the games had begun. 

This arena, historians would gush, was just absolutely _gorgeous!_ The Gamemakers had nailed every single aspect about it, right down to the music being old pop hits from the era. If this wasn't the Hunger Games, then this could have very well been an ordinary group of teens going to an ordinary mall on an ordinary Saturday morning from centuries long past. 

With such a good arena, these Games were bound to be excellent. 

As the timer ticked down, the Capitolites crowded round the nearest television screen, all jostling each other in order to get a glimpse of the action. The sounds of drink cans hissing open, snack packets crinkling, and excited chatter filled the air. They were ready for a show. 

And what a show it was. 

The gong rang and all six Careers charged forward, scooping up their swords, getting ready for some hacking and slashing. The boy from Five was the first casualty, having tried to cut across Platinum’s path. He was quickly felled with one clean stroke of the sword across his back, droplets of blood falling to the clean floor below. Platinum whooped in celebration, before spying the boy’s district partner trying to get the jump on him with a knife. One more swing of his sword later, and District Five was eliminated. 

Meanwhile, Joy had taken to guarding as many supplies as she could, while everyone else had gone on the offensive. She stood over food and first aid supplies, playing the part of a good little vicious Career, baring her teeth and brandishing her sword at anyone who approached. It worked on scaring off most of the more feeble ones, but the boy from Seven wasn't what anyone would call feeble. 

He picked up an axe and swung it at her. She leapt back, the blade missing her by a few inches. She steadied her grip on her sword, willing herself to attack… 

...but she couldn't. She was suddenly struck by a sense of disgust at what she was trying to do. This boy wasn't just some stationary target like the training dummies. He was a human being. 

A human being that was trying to kill her. 

He swung at her again. This time, her attempt at dodging it resulted in her tripping backwards over a crate. Joy landed hard on her back, feeling the air leave her lungs in a gush. Her throat seized and her heart stopped as the Seven boy loomed over her and lifted his axe above his head, clearly enjoying the fact that he would kill a Career. 

But before he could bring the axe down, the boy’s face suddenly froze in a contorted expression. He let out a wheeze of pain before falling to the side, revealing Granyte standing behind him with a blood-soaked sword. 

Granyte helped Joy up with only a “you alright?” and a pat on her shoulder, then he turned around and leapt back into the fray as quickly as he had arrived. Joy states after him for a moment, blindsided by how fast the whole thing had happened. She shivered as she picked up her sword and stepped over the dead boy. 

She grit her teeth in an attempt to hide the pain she was feeling. She couldn't afford to show weakness. Weakness was dishonourable. She couldn't let her family or her district down. Suck it up and push through it. 

So she did. She got back to work guarding the supplies, discouraging the outlier tributes from trying to pilfer any more supplies than they already had. She put on her mask, snarling and violent, and stalked the area around the cornucopia just like she'd seen Careers from years before her do. 

There was one moment where she nearly cracked. 

The tiny boy from Eight scooped up a bag and turned to run, only for Ronette to throw a knife into his chest. The angle at which it happened meant that Joy had a good, clear view of the look on the boy’s face when he realised he was going to die. The absolute horror, the fear, the reluctant resignation to his fate… The way his eyes widened. The way he screamed, in pain and terror. The understanding that this was it for him. 

Then he coughed, blood spurting from between his lips, and fell onto his back, twitching like an insect that had just been gassed. 

Joy tore her eyes away. What was wrong with her? Gawking at someone's final moments like that? That was sick. 

She grit her teeth so hard it felt like they were being ground into dust. No. She shouldn't be concerned about that. She should be focused on her duty. Not… this. 

Joy pointedly looked away from the boy’s dead body, and every other dead body, until all the outliers had disappeared and just like that, the bloodbath was over. 

If only the arena could automatically clean itself up. 

The amount of blood on the floor was unbelievable. She had no idea how all that blood could have come from seven bodies. It was the amount she’d expect from seven hundred. 

And the bodies themselves weren't any better to look at. All their wounds, gashes and sliced-off limbs merged into one giant red hand that slapped Joy in the face. This wasn't honourable. It was sick. This whole thing was sick. 

She was sick, for volunteering for this. 

Her cheeks puffed out as she fought the urge to vomit. The smell of everything blanketed her surroundings, infecting them with that horrid metallic scent. 

“What the matter with you?” 

Joy swallowed her vomit as she looked up to see Ronette scowling at her. It was her usual expression, but today it was much more intense. Maybe it was those cutoff denim shorts that looked way too small for her. Or maybe it was the wound in her side, ugly and red and raw. Yeah, it was probably that. 

“A-Are you okay?” Joy gestured to the wound. “That looks nasty.” 

“That fucker from Six got me with a dagger,” Ronette spat. Her gaze shifted to a particularly bloody body near the escalators. “But I got him back.” 

“I-I’ll get the f-first aid kit.” Joy moved to search through the supplies that she'd successfully defended. 

Ronette raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay, though? You look like you're gonna puke.” 

“What, a little violence too much for you?” Platinum mocked, flashing her a smug grin. 

Joy still found it within herself to narrow her eyebrows at him. “No. It, uh, it's the smell. I wasn't expecting it to be so overpowering.” 

“Yeah, me neither,” Granyte said, wiping the offending fluid from his sword. “Shit’s gross.” 

Ronette gave one firm nod in his direction. “It really is,” she said as she sat down on a nearby crate and lifted her arms out of the way, “That's what they don't tell you about the Games. It smells terrible.” 

Joy kneeled beside Ronette and opened up the first aid kit. She pulled out bandages and anti-bacterial spray and got to work dressing the wound as best she could. 

“Hello, nurse,” Herman spoke slyly, “you mind giving my boo-boo a little kiss to make it better?” He extended his leg and lifted up his shorts, revealing a small cut just below his knee. 

“Man, shut up,” Granyte said playfully, giving Herman a gentle shove. “Leave her alone, she's busy.” 

Ronette grunted in approval once Joy had finished tying off the bandage. She stood up and announced, “Right, I'm going to go find another shirt since this one’s all ripped and bloody, then after that we’re all going hunting.” 

Platinum shook his head furiously. “Not all of us,” he protested. “Someone has to stand guard. I'm not having some outlier brats making off with what is rightfully ours.” 

Ronette sighed. “Fine. Put your hands up if you want to stay.” 

For three painfully long, silent seconds, no one moved. 

Right as Ronette was about to open her mouth, Joy slowly, nervously put her hand up. 

“Really? I thought you'd want to come along to get away from the smell.” Ronette’s nose wrinkled. “Or to get some kills since, you know, you haven't gotten any so far.” 

Platinum and Herman both smirked at that. 

Joy shrugged. “Nah. You guys go on ahead. I know you must be itching to get some more kills. Besides, I have the rest of the Games to get some for myself.” 

Ronette nodded, more respectfully this time. “Well, good then. We’ll make it up to you later.” 

And that was that. Ronette changed her shirt, picked up her sword, and off they all went. Joy watched them head up the escalators and waited until they were all out of sight before breathing out a sigh of relief. Now that they were gone, she didn’t feel quite so unsafe anymore. 

Anyway, it was time to get to work. 

Joy headed down a dim, narrow hallway that branched off from the main arena. In this hallway were only three rooms: two bathrooms and a janitor’s closet. She collected a mop and a bucket which she filled up using the bathroom sinks. She wheeled it back to the cornucopia and began to clean the floor. 

It was hard at first. She’d never mopped a floor before. Such tasks were supposed to be beneath her. She was probably the laughing stock of her district right now. 

But never mind them now. She’d seen the maids mop the floor often enough to have a basic idea of what to do. Before long, she finally got the hang of squeezing the water out of the mop head and brushing it along the floor just so. She refilled the bucket twice and didn’t stop, despite the pain in her neck and shoulders from craning down for so long, until she was satisfied that most of the blood was gone. Sure, there were a few watery spots that she couldn’t quite get rid of, but still. The floor looked just as shiny as it had before the bloodbath. 

She finally sat down by the cornucopia, sword in hand, watching out for any sign of life. The only thing filling the void of the downstairs floor was the speakers, its music soft and haunting as it bounced off the walls. 

When night fell, Joy was still alone. The music suddenly halted as the anthem began to play, followed by a robotic, emotionless voice reading out the list of the dead. Seven dead, never to walk this earth again. 

Joy retreated into the shadow of the cornucopia, where the cameras couldn’t see the tears on her face. 

Why oh why was she foolish enough to ever think something like this was desirable? 

Chanel was right. She really was a foolish, airheaded princess.


End file.
